


No Hard Feelings

by camrin



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 11:45:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camrin/pseuds/camrin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d wondered how it would feel when this day would come. It was just his luck that the NL West was playing the AL West for interleague the first year he’d signed with Seattle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Hard Feelings

**Author's Note:**

> For lakunae (working on getting you an invite, girl!) based on a conversation we had when Vogelsong pitched against Melky Cabrera during the terrible Toronto series. Her guidelines: make it under 2000 words and told in flashes, no flash bigger than 500 words. (Jeez, you ask someone for a prompt and they sure deliver it...) Hope this is what you meant! 
> 
> Takes place during the 2014 MLB Season.

He’d wondered how it would feel when this day would come. It was just his luck that the NL West was playing the AL West for interleague the first year he’d signed with Seattle.

Getting off the bus at AT&T was hard. Felix Hernandez had put a hand gently on his shoulder and asked him, “You alright, man?” He nodded.

“It’s just kind of surreal,” Tim said with a shrug. “Coming here from the other side.”

“You’re gonna be fine,” Felix said with a smile that could calm a monsoon. “Gonna show them they should have extended you a contract.”

“Then I wouldn’t be here to keep you in line,” Tim said, punching him playfully. The ace and reigning King of Seattle had been nothing but kind to Tim as soon as he’d signed his three-year deal with the Mariners. Tim had thought that all of the fuss about him had been inaccurate, and he was right. Felix was even _nicer_.

He hitched the green bag over his shoulder and followed the rest of the team in.

 

 

Taking the mound, he surveyed the crowd. The Lincecum jerseys were still in full display on the backs of the Giants faithful, and the crowd had gone wild at seeing him. No hard feelings, he thought to himself, palming the ball. No hard feelings for them, at least.

Angel Pagan took the plate and looked across the sixty feet six inches with kindness and mirth in his eyes. He nodded at Tim, and he smiled back. No hard feelings, at least for Pagan. Tim got the sign, reached back, and fired.

 

 

It wasn’t until the bottom of the second that he realized he was quick to judge. That was when 220 pounds of purebred Georgia sunshine walked up to the plate and froze Tim in his cleats.

No smile. Nothing but ice and a stern, pressed mouth. 

No hard feelings? Not so from Buster Posey. Tim found himself flustered and threw a ball, high. Posey’s eyes crinkled mockingly. Tim felt a strange fire stir within him and fired a fastball. Posey swung and missed.

 

 

The bar was crowded and familiar, but Tim found a seat easily. “Old habits die hard,” a voice said from against the wall. Tim looked up to find Posey smiling without humor, strong arms crossed over a plaid shirt that Tim had probably seen him wear a thousand times. 

“Better than picking up new ones, I guess,” Tim said. Posey sat down on the stool next to him and Tim flagged down the bartender.

“Run support’s a bitch, huh?” Posey asked, picking up the one of the shots that Tim had ordered and nodding at the bartender. 

“Not too unfamiliar with that,” Tim said, knocking his back.

“The loss ain’t on you.”

“Well, it’d have been nice to win.”

“Seven scoreless is nothing to scoff at. And you hit 94. You looked good.”

“You think?”

“I do,” Posey said, taking his. “Maybe that Washington air is good for you.”

“Maybe,” Tim said, calling the bartender again.

“When you came up to bat, I said ‘hi’,” Posey said, resting his head on his hand. “I don’t do that much, but I said it to you, and you didn’t say anything back.”

“The way you looked at me for your first at-bat kind of froze me in my tracks. I was still thawing.” Posey snickered.

“Sorry. Not used to being on the receiving end, huh?”

Tim shrugged.

“We figured you’d come into the clubhouse,” Posey continued. “You didn’t.”

Tim shrugged again.

 

“You gonna be okay?” Posey asked. Tim, slumped against his shoulder, nodded. 

“Right down here,” Tim said, pointing down the hotel hallway. Posey walked in that direction, his arm around Tim’s shoulders. 

“You drank too much.”

“No shit,” Tim said, rubbing his forehead. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and fumbled for the key card. Posey drunkenly pulled it out and swiped it. 

They walked into the dark room and Posey fumbled for a light switch. Tim sat on the bed, running his hands through his hair, which was now about chin-length.

“I’ll call for a cab or something,” Posey said, looking at the door and not moving.

“I’m not that drunk,” Tim sighed from behind his hands.

Posey walked over and kneeled in front of him. “I think about you all the time,” he admitted, perfect blue eyes meeting Tim’s.

“Bullshit,” Tim said. 

“Them not offering you anything wasn’t right.”

“They did what they had to. Team’s call.”

“You belong here,” Posey said, putting his hand on Tim’s knee. “Here, with us. We all miss you in the clubhouse.”

“What the fuck do you expect me to do about it? I can’t go somewhere they don’t want me.”

Posey looked down silently, the warmth of his hand burning against Tim’s jeans. “You always had a chip on your shoulder,” he said, looking up again. “Too small. Won’t last. Keep you ‘til we don’t need you anymore.”

“Fuck you,” Tim said, pushing Posey’s hand away.

“Probably wouldn’t know what to do if someone did want you.” Posey pushed Tim down by his chest until he was laying flat on the bed.

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, his breath catching. 

“I’ve wanted you since day one,” Posey sighed, climbing on the bed, straddling Tim. He ran his hands up Tim’s chest. “I got a rule, though. I don’t fuck teammates.”

“You got a rule,” Tim repeated, heart pounding.

“Uh huh,” Posey said, unbuttoning the front of Tim’s shirt. “God, you tested the hell out of me though.” He smoothed his hands down Tim’s chest. “You and your pretty little mouth, the way you stretch on the field, the way you looked at me when you didn’t like what I was callin’…” he murmured, leaning down to press kisses against Tim’s collarbone. He shivered.

“So since I’m not your teammate, you’re gonna try to fuck me, is that right?” Tim choked.

“You let me into your hotel room, Tim.”

“You let yourself in.”

“Particulars,” shrugged Posey. “I’m in here, I’m on your bed, and I’m taking your clothes off. You haven’t said a damn word about it.”

“You haven’t given me a chance to,” Tim stuttered. Posey pulled Tim’s belt out of the buckle and snickered. 

“You got all the chance in the world.” Pulling the belt from Tim’s belt loops, he dropped it on the floor. “I’m trying to take my time with getting you naked, but I don’t know if I can help myself, really.”

 

 

They were pressed against each other, Posey kissing down the length of Tim’s neck. “All those times I wanted you,” Posey rasped, reaching down to palm the front of Tim’s boxers.

“Tell me,” Tim groaned, arching into his touch. “Say it.”

“When we won the series, the first time. Wanted to fuck you on the champagne soaked floor of the visitor’s clubhouse.”

“Uh huh,” Tim squeaked, leaning back as Posey ran his tongue harshly against his nipple.

“When I came back to spring training, 2012. You smiled and welcomed me back and you had lost all that weight and looked like I could have broken you. I wanted to break you.” 

“Fuck,” Tim said as Posey rolled him onto his back.

“2012 series, the first time you threw to me out of the bullpen. You gave this little half smile and I wanted you right there, in my catcher’s gear, in front of 40,000 people.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Tim groaned as Posey pulled the waistband of his boxers to his knees.

Posey looked at him, eyebrow cocked and face alight with mischief. “I don’t fuck teammates,” he said, and took him into his mouth.

 

 

Tim shivered and pulled the duvet of the hotel bed over himself. His body was weak and light with orgasm, and he was still trying to convince himself that this wasn’t a dream. Posey’s strong arms wrapped around him from behind, pulling him against his chest. So this _was_ real.

“When we’re in Seattle, in June,” Posey whispered huskily in his ear, “I’m gonna fuck you against those glass doors in your apartment so hard that you won’t even remember your name.”

 

 

The next morning Tim woke to the sun shining in through the doors leading out to the balcony. He felt displaced and strange, like he had fallen asleep at the movies or at a friend’s house. Rubbing his eyes, he plodded sleepily into the bathroom and turned on the shower. It wasn’t until he was rinsing out his shampoo that he remembered Posey. The events of the night previous slowly filtered back into his brain and he sighed.  Was it even real? Even if it was, what the hell did it mean? When he got to the yard with the guys, and started warming up, would they be able to tell just by looking at him that he…

He dried his hair messily with a towel, grabbing the hotel robe that was hung on the back of the bathroom door. Once he got back into the bedroom, he noticed something small and square on the pillow of the bed. He unfolded it, and written in Posey’s strict schoolteacher handwriting was _No hard feelings._

 

 

After Tim got to the yard that day, he decided to head into the home team’s clubhouse. Everyone cheered and clapped him on the back, and he received a bear hug from Pablo Sandoval that he joked would send him to the disabled list. Bochy smiled and shook his hand. “You looked good out there yesterday, Timmy,” he said in a voice that had as much effect on Tim’s heart as his own father’s. “Good location. Nice to see you.”

“You too, Boch,” Tim said, smiling shyly at his former skipper. “I’m giving it my best.”

“You always do,” Bochy said warmly, then followed Righetti and Bumgarner out of the clubhouse doors.

“Good to see you,” a voice said behind him. Tim turned to see Posey, dressed immaculately in his batting practice uniform, smiling impersonally. 

“Buster, hey, nice to see you too,” Tim said, reaching out to shake his hand. Posey took it firmly.

“You looked good out there yesterday. Didn’t beat up your catcher as much as you used to do me. Was it something I said?” Tim laughed awkwardly.

“No way, man. Just tweaking the delivery a bit, I guess.”

“Always good to see you, Timmy,” Posey said. He pulled him in for a loose hug.  “Seattle,” he whispered brusquely in Tim’s ear, and nodded at him before grabbing his bag and heading out to the field. Tim watched him disappear. 


End file.
